A Dark Paradise
by Xazz
Summary: After coming into contact with the Apple Altair feels himself changed, and not for the better. Quicker to anger, becoming more reckless, one would think he's got a death wish. Perhaps he does, for when death lingers close a shade appears, a man no one can see.
1. Chapter 1

So this is a commission for name-me-regret they bought... a while ago. jasfgjgdkhd sorry it took so long and thank you for being patient with my slow ass!

* * *

Before he even really realized what he was doing his body was in motion. What Malik said had made sense, logically, but like strings controlled his limbs he was lunging forward. He heard Malik call him but his eyes were on Robert, a driving force behind him. His hidden blade popped out of it's sheath as he threw himself at Robert. The Templar caught him and laughed, Altair could barely hear what he was saying. All he felt was a blind rush to go forward, to take and whip into a fury. Something that made him reckless and stupid (stupider if you'd believe Malik).

Then he felt his feet leave the ground and he was bodily thrown away. His eyes widened as he was about to hit someone who was standing in front of some scaffolding. He ducked and twisted so he'd hit with his shoulders. He hit the scaffolding hard, crashing through and destroying it. He rolled onto the ground with a thud, scrambling to his feet in time to see the arch cave in.

"No!" he cried and for a blind second wanted to dig. But there was too much rubble, too many large pieces. He'd never be able to dig through. He had to forcibly calm himself so he didn't just throw himself at the rocks. He was being ridiculous, why was he doing this? This wasn't his normal behavior, honestly. Something was itching and crawling under his skin, making him wanting to go back, to find what pushed him forward so hard it made him ache. Instead he fisted his hair and yelled at the rocks, hoping he'd feel better.

There was nothing he could do. He was lost, alone, and he'd failed. The thought hit him like a sledgehammer. He'd _failed_. He never failed.

He looked at the cave in balefully. He thought he could hear fighting, but it was just a trick of the mind. He was alone. No Malik, no Kadar, no Templars to even unleash his fury upon. No way to even get back to the last cavern. He was stuck, and even if he tried to get back there by the time he did it'd be over, Robert and his men would be gone. And the brothers… There was only one thing he could do. He turned and ran, like wings were attached to his feet, up and over old scaffolding and stone and up walls and near sheer surfaces. Sunlight soon decorated his face and he forgot the itching, rolling, crawling feeling under his skin, leaving it far below the earth and trying his best to leave his failure with it too.

—

There were times when Altair could be humble. When he could admit he'd failed and lost. Now he must be humble before the Master. There was no real excuse for his failure, but the Master would accept his failure because there was little he could do about it anyway.

At least until Malik appeared, furious, and close to death, like a revenant come back from the dead to blame and find the tiny cracks in Altair's armor. Altair could do very little when Malik yelled both at him and to their Master about what Altair had done, how Kadar was dead, how he'd broken the tenets, how in true spectacular fashion Altair had _failed_ in ever sense of the word. Altair swallowed at the look in Al Mualim's eyes when he took the prize Altair had failed to get and then turned upon Altair. He saw his death reflected in his Master's eyes. It made him nervous.

He couldn't look at his Master as he felt his heart skip into a thunderous gallop. Normally he did not feel fear, but he knew Al Mualim. Whatever death awaited him would be merciless, painful, and humiliating. He saw a shade over his Master's shoulder as he tried to not look at him. When he went to focus on it it was gone like a desert mirage.

His life was spared however when a runner came to give them the worst news. Templars in Masyaf. A coldness settled over Altair. He could think again and speak without being angry. Angry that Malik was alive, angry that he failed, angry that he will pay for his failure.

"So Robert seeks a fight?" Al Mualim asked, scoffishly, "Then, we shalln't deny him. Inform the others, the fortress must be prepared. Altair," his name like a noose resting gently on his neck and then clenched enough to make it hard to breathe. Al Mualim's voice is low and contains contempt. The old man is still furious with him. "Our discussion will have to wait. You must make for the village and drive these dogs from our home," the command made Altair's hands itch with want to serve. "Kill them all," he said.

"It will be done," Altair heard himself say. He couldn't feel himself speak though, he's numb all over, his body buzzing slightly around his bones. He looked at Al Mualim and then his eyes sweep down to the treasure he failed to retrieve. For a moment it became hard to breathe and then he tore himself away. He walked past Malik on his way down to the courtyard. Malik swore at him and spit on him. He doesn't even give Malik notice and just ignored him, which no doubt infuriated him further. Altair can't think of Malik now though, he had much more important things to worry about. Things like Masyaf and a life he couldn't lose.

—

For nearly single handedly stopping the Templars with their trap Altair should have been rewarded. Instead he was put on trial. What a mockery that was! It was no trial, it was Al Mualim casting blame and twisting what Altair had done into what he hadn't.

Well… perhaps he hadn't twisted them too much. Altair admitted he'd done all those things. He knew he had. He knew the Creed, he knew the tenets. He was not an idiot. He obeyed their laws: do not kill the innocent, the man in the tunnel had not been innocent. Hide in plain sight, perhaps Malik had been blind the entire way to the Temple Mount, who knew it _was_ possible. Too busy watching his little brother. Do not compromise the brotherhood… well perhaps he was guilty of breaking that on. The worst one to break. But that did not mean he deserved death! Which was what this 'trial' had turned into. A death sentence.

Altair's eyes widened when Al Mualim drew a dagger after ending his tirade. He was still burned from being slapped but this was different. Al Mualim said not to fear death, for it is all around you, and it is a gift. In death you return to Allah and the garden and his angels. You get the rewards of being a good servant of god. But Altair didn't want to die, he was afraid of death.

"I'm sorry," Al Mualim said and Altair believed him. Altair tugged at the bounds on his arms. "I truly am. But I cannot abide a traitor."

Traitor? "I am not a traitor!" Altair cried. He was not! Call him what you wanted but Altair was _not_ a traitor. His brothers held him fast even when he tried to wriggle out of their grip.

"Your actions say otherwise," the old man approached him. "You leave me no choice, my son. Peace be upon you," and he slid the dagger between Altair's ribs.

Altair's eyes flew wide and a cry of pain left his lips. He stared at Al Mualim and up close he knew the old man could see his eyes and the blind panic they contained. He did not want to die. He was not a traitor. If he died a 'traitor' to the Assassins was he also a traitor to Allah? What- what if he went to hell? Al Mualim didn't even seem upset though, he seemed resigned, and… amused? Damn that old man finding amusement in his death! He was going to haunt the bastard for this.

Then the blade was removed and his brothers held him as blood poured from his body. He felt unbelievably weak. Weaker than just if he'd been stabbed. He knew what being stabbed felt like, it felt like this but this was somehow worse. Altair's vision blurred and swayed and his legs gave out but he stayed vertical thanks to his brother's holding him. As they did he saw the shade over Al Mualim's shoulder, watching in a sort of silent curiosity, the edges of it's form distorted and wispy.

Altair blacked out.

—

It was all bright and painless, like he was floating. Clouds and strange strings of rain fell above and under and around him like a nebula. His body did not hurt but his head _did_, like he had a splitting headache.

Was this heaven?

No. There was no garden, nothing like that, no angels either. Also heaven did not hurt. He assumed at least. It shouldn't hurt, right? It should be painless because life was pain, so lack of pain meant lack of life. So he was still alive. But where?

If he opened his eyes a bit more maybe he'd know. But the white light made his head hurt profoundly. He settled for just pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead with a soft groan. Maybe this was purgatory. Great, he was stuck in purgatory.

"You're not dead," his eyes flew open only to have to slam shut at too much light. They tracked the voice under his eyelids all the same to somewhere right above his left side. A finger poked his cheek and he cracked his eyes open. It was the shade. Yes, definitely purgatory it seemed. "Get up Altair, you're not dead yet," they said and Altair closed his eyes again.

—

When he woke again the place was familiar. It was the infirmary at Masyaf. He'd only been here as a boy. What was he doing here? Why wasn't he dead? With a groan he tried to sit up and managed to even though a searing pain laced up from his chest. He groaned in pain. That wasn't advisable. He was the only one in the ward save for a man at the end of the room who was sleeping and wrapped in bandages.

The noise he made caused one of the doctors to look into the room. When they saw Altair was awake they bustled into the room. "I'm not dead?" Altair didn't have to fake his surprise.

"By the mercy of our Master," they said looking down at him in disdain and disgust. Bastard.

"What happened?"

"I don't ask questions, and neither should _you_. Does it hurt?"

Altair winced a little, "Yes."

"Good," and Altair growled at them. "Go back to sleep and don't disturb our other patience, he's got it much worse than just a petty stabbing."

"Yeah, like what?" Altair growled.

"We had to amputate is arm," and all the color fell out of Altair's face. "Now go to sleep, I'll check on you in a little bit," and the doctor left.

Altair looked down the ward at the sleeping man all wrapped in bandages and saw that yes, there was something off about them. Altair knew who he was looking at. He was no fool. Malik. Grace be to Allah he wasn't dead. But now he was alive as a cripple. The world was not kind to cripples. Altair felt guilty. Of course he did, only a man without a soul wouldn't have! Though if Malik had been so grievously injured or outnumbered he should have run. Or… or died an Assassins death on the field of battle, fighting Templars. Yes Altair might have been the cause but it was no one's fault but Malik's that he would now have to suffer life like this.

Sometimes death was a better option.

—

Altair was glad when he could leave the infirmary. He did not do well being stuck in bed. At least Malik had never woken while he'd been there, or if he had it'd been at different times when Altair was sleeping. But he was allowed out and given his uniform back. He was not dead. As he wasn't he would work. Good. Altair didn't like being useless or listless. He needed a task.

His first was to visit Al Mualim.

Admittedly he was more than a bit cautious as he walked up to Al Mualim's desk. The old man wasn't looking at him, but he knew the old man knew he was there. He waited for his Master to acknowledge him but it didn't come. Altair started to fidget, waiting.

He kept his silence for nearly ten minutes before he could no longer do so. "How am I alive?" and Al Mualim turned and looked at him as if to say 'hush boy' but damnit this was important! "You stabbed me, I saw you," it was short of an accusation. He could feel the strange coiled rolling sensation he had back in Solomon's Temple under his skin. He knew he could have stayed silent until Al Mualim had spoken, once he'd stood here nearly an hour waiting for the old man to even _look_ at him after he'd disobeyed as a younger man. But it was… something that made him blind and reckless, seemingly caring little for his own, personal, safety.

"You saw what I wanted you to see, and then you slept the sleep of the dead; of the womb, so that you might awake, and be reborn," his Master said. "A new man, a _better_ man," and Altair didn't miss the sharp look in his Master's eyes.

"To what end?" was he already not a good man? A good Assassin perhaps, the best honestly. He didn't even need to tell himself that, the Order already did.

"Altair," Al Mualim put his hands behind his back and walked towards him, "do you remember what the Assassins fight for?"

"Peace, in all things," what a oxymoron that was. Peace through death. Even he saw the fraud in it.

"Yes, in all things. It is not enough to end the violence one man commits to another. It refers to peace within as well, and you cannot have one without the other."

Altair nearly rolled his eyes, "So it is said."

"So it is!" and Al Mualim, near that he was, looked like he was about to strike Altair again for saying such. It would not be the first time the Master struck him, Altair doubted it would be the last if he did so. But Al Mualim stayed his hand. "But you, my don, have not found inner peace!" what would he know of Altair though? "It manifests in ugly ways! You are arrogant and overconfident."

And had he not taught to be? Altair's jaw clenched. Yes, of course, blame the dog for the tricks it is taught. A wise move. He couldn't even speak, he was just angry. More so than he would have been. That Al Mualim would throw his own teachings back into Altair's face like this. Had he not once praised Altair for all the things he now called 'arrogant' and 'overconfident'? His left hand balled into a fist. "I do as the Creed allows," he ground out.

Al Mualim snorted, "You do not know the true meaning of the Creed, my child. It does not grant you the freedom to do as you wish, it is the knowledge meant to guide your senses. It expects a wisdom you clearly lack!" the Master wasn't pleased with his answer. That was clear. Altair glared at Al Mualim from under his hood.

"Then what?" Altair bit out, trying to hold in his fury. "What is to become of me then?" Al Mualim treated him like a misbehaving dog. Perhaps the old man should be reminded his prized mutt had _teeth_.

"I should kill you for the pain you brought us," him? Malik was the one who led the Templars here, not him! He did not say this. "Malik thinks it only fair- your life in exchange for his brother's," of course he would. "But this would be a waste of my time and your talents," obviously. "You've been stripped of your rank-

"What?" he nearly choked out. No. No! God be damned and damn this old man to all the hells there were! He had not worked nearly twenty years for his place amid the masters just for it to be stripped away from him like it was a dirty robe in need of cleaning. Altair wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around the old buzzard's throat for this… this _humiliation_. He hoped his father in heaven did not look down now and see the humiliation his son had wrought. "You can't-

"I can and I have," Al Mualim growled, shoving a finger nearly in his face. "You are a novice, as you were on the day you first joined our Order," you mean the day Altair was born. It made Altair seethe. "But, I am not without mercy. I offer you a chance at redemption. You'll earn your way back into our Brotherhood."

Altair could barely speak his jaw was so tight, "I assume you have something planned," always with the plans.

"First you much prove to me you remember how to be an Assassin again. No not how to take a life, that will come. For now you are to become a student once again. Others tracked your targets for you, but no more. From today on you will track them yourself."

"There is not need for this-

"Boy! This is my will and if you wish to return to our good graces you will do as ordered!"

Altair swallowed his pride and what a bitter pill it was. "If this is what you wish."

"It is."

"Then," he took a breath to not scream, "tell me what I must do."


	2. Chapter 2

Altair stared into the water of the canal that divided two districts in Damascus. He couldn't see the bottom for it was murky and he frowned at it. He'd been heading for the bureau, taking this route, when he swore he'd seen something in the water, like a face. It led him to where he was now, leaning over the side of the railing, staring intently down into the water. He'd seen something there. He knew he had.

He tore himself away and went to the bureau, listened to the Dai speak and keeping his tongue behind his teeth as the man casually insulted him. He knew not to take it too personally as the Dai handed out insults like praise and didn't even mean them half the time. Altair was just not in the mood at all. He'd met Malik in Jerusalem only a few weeks ago for the first time since their mission.

It had not… been a pleasant meeting to say the least.

Once the Dai released him Altair was away, seeking a high point to get his bearings in the city. He didn't come to Damascus often honestly. Most missions were carried out in Aleppo or Jerusalem or any number of the busy port cities with it's great influx of Europeans, all ripe for Assassin blades. Damascus was quiet in comparison.

A strong wind buffered against Altair's form, making him squint to keep the dust from his eyes and protect them from the dry wind. He saw where he needed to go though and after finding a safe landing he prepared for his jump.

It was as he was jumping off that he saw it. The shade out of the corner of his eye. It almost made him botch the jump but he was too well trained to fail. As he fell he looked, but it was gone. It appeared on his other side but he couldn't look, he needed to correct his flight or he'd kill himself. He glanced below him and saw he was slightly off. Altair flipped in the air, using that to put him on the right track and as he hit the hay for a brief instant, the length of a blink, the shade seemed to show in proper relief. It happened so quickly Altair couldn't make anything about them out other than that it was a man.

Then the loose hay fell over Altair's face and it was gone.

—

It happened… more.

Each time he made a jump, or squared off against a guard or a Templar Altair would see it. That little shade just in the corner of his eye. It was always especially bad when he returned home to Masyaf and Al Mualim would speak, Altair barely listening, going through the motions. He had his own thoughts and sometimes they turned murderous to his teacher. Something about the office made him angry, like something was wrong.

Once the old man brought out that silver ball. Altair had nearly lost it. He didn't even know why. It was just… just a lump of silver! It made him want to reach out and take it, take it away from the Master. He wanted it. He didn't even know what it did, even if it did anything at all (something about illusions), but he wanted it. Altair couldn't explain why the ball, the… Apple of Eden, affected him so much.

He was never so glad to be away from home ever. He'd rather be on the road. He'd rather deal with Malik's sharp tongue, or Faruq's casual insults or Zaki's zero tolerance, than to stay home. Home made him harsh and restless.

The visions continued even away from Masyaf though and were relentless. Altair felt like he was going insane, and that was on top of this mad Templar conspiracy he saw unfolding before him. It all made his head spin. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know who to tell. He didn't know how to handle it. The shade would not leave him.

Perhaps the worst part of it all though was that he didn't want it to go.

—

When Altair finally picked the blood stained orb from the grass he felt ill. The silver ball was covered in his master's blood from where Altair had hit his frail, old, flesh. Looking at it made Altair feel strange, but not like how he was expecting. To his surprise he suddenly doubled over and vomited right in front of Malik and his men. He hadn't been expecting to do that and all he could think was how humiliating that was, to vomit in front of Malik like a boy who'd killed his first dog to get a taste for death and blood.

"Altair," Malik said cautiously, "are you alright?" Altair's reply was a groan and he fell over to his side. He was weak and hurt. For an old man Rashid had still been skilled in the sword and managed to hurt Altair quite a bit. "Altair," Malik rushed over to him as Altair laid down on his back, clutching the Apple in one hand. Malik's face hovered above him as did several other faces he didn't know. Altair's eyes fluttered and like he had the last time Rashid had struck him Altair blacked out.

—

It was so white and bright in this place, this purgatory, Altair had no idea where he was, he barely knew who he was. He blinked several times to reacquaint himself to the bright light. There was his shade, crouched over him, frowning like he was disappointed in Altair. Altair couldn't see him very well.

"Who are you?" Altair asked, his words slurred, his vision blurry. They didn't answer him. "Who?" he reached out to grab them, his hand passed right through them, just like always, the shade wasn't real.

"You going to die?" they asked him, they sounded like they didn't care either way honestly. "Or you going to be the stubborn asshole I know you are and get the fuck up."

"I'm not dead," Altair groaned.

"Then don't die you idiot."

"I'm not an idiot," Altair hissed.

The shade laughed, "Yeah you are," and for a moment Altair could see him clearly. He was Altair's age with short, brown, hair, and a scar on his mouth like Altair's. Only different, not was big as Altair's. He was handsome in a way few men were handsome, more beautiful than not. His eyes were cool and calm and didn't seem to care and Altair saw a rage hidden deep within them, it was like looking into his own eyes. He wore short, white, coat over a shirt with a bird pattern on it and blue pants. There was something about him that Altair couldn't put words to, something that made him angry and calm and desperate at once.

"Who are you?" Altair asked again, reaching up to touch the shade's face, his fingers touched nothing.

"Ask yourself that," the shade said.

"I'm Altair," he groaned, because he hurt still. Hurt from Rashid, from fighting his father, killing him.

"Who are you?" they asked.

"Altair," Altair said again and slowly shook his head, the vision of his shade was becoming blurry again, the features receding into vague shapes of a face and body. The bright, white, nebulous, world around him started to dim.

"Remember that," and then the shade was nothing more than a body made of shadow and Altair was already forgetting what he looked like. His eyes closed.

—

Altair awoke in a bed, a man was sitting at his side and jumped up when he opened his eyes with a groan. "Sir, you're awake," they said.

"What happened?" he asked weakly but the man was already gone. Altair shook his head slowly and could feel every new cut on his body, they all hurt. His wounds had been wrapped in bandages but they still hurt. He tried to remember what had happened.

If he hadn't been hurt he would have suddenly sat upright. His shade! He'd finally seen it! After months of half seeing it out of the corner of his eyes. He still didn't know who it was though, or what it was really. He'd learned nothing from it or about it.

Malik came into the room, his eyes went to him, "You return to the land of the living at last," Malik said.

"I don't die easy," Altair said.

Malik chuckled, "No you don't. Though we were worried for a little while. We almost lost you," he placed a gentle hand on Altair's shoulder.

"Where is the Apple?"

"The silver ball?," Altair nodded, "There," he pointed and Altair looked. "We had to pry it from your hand when we wanted to see to your wounds, you wouldn't let it go."

Altair's head was spinning a bit. "How long was I out for?"

"A few days. Your wounds are still healing, but you'll recover."

"What about everyone? Are they okay?"

"Yes," Malik nodded, "When you killed Rashid his power over them faded and they returned to themselves."

"Good," Altair sighed, "Good," he swallowed. "What now?"

"We're waiting for you to get better," Malik said, "once you are we'll figure out what to do."

Altair frowned, "Why wait for me?"

"You killed Al Mualim," Malik said, "it usually doesn't happen since they usually pick their successor but… there is a law that says whoever kills the Mentor becomes the Mentor."

Altair blinked at Malik, "I don't want to be Mentor," he said. He didn't. He didn't have the head for it. He didn't like desk work, he liked being out in the field.

"Well you are now," Malik said, "Go back to sleep, we'll talk again when you wake," and he patted Altair's shoulder before leaving.

Altair's stomach growled as the door closed, "Malik!" he called and Malik stuck his head back into the room, looking concerned. "Bring your Mentor some food, he's hungry," Altair said.

Malik just rolled his eyes, "Fine," and closed the door. Altair smiled to himself. Okay maybe being Mentor wouldn't be so bad if it got Malik to do what he said without any back talk.


End file.
